


Finding Your Voice

by MagicalStardust



Series: How to treat your daemon [2]
Category: His Dark Materials (TV)
Genre: Attempts at self care, F/F, Gen, Healing, Mary is trying her best to help Oz and Marisa, Mentions of past self-harm, Mutism, Self-Harm, she is really trying
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29093412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicalStardust/pseuds/MagicalStardust
Summary: Marisa's daemon never talks.Mary thinks that should change.Neither Marisa nor Oz are entirely sure about Mary's new mission.(you don't need to read the first fic in the series for this one to make sense)
Relationships: Marisa Coulter & Marisa Coulter's Daemon, Marisa Coulter/Mary Malone, Mary Malone & Marisa Coulter's Daemon
Series: How to treat your daemon [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2088591
Comments: 17
Kudos: 33





	Finding Your Voice

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!  
> I just want to say thank you so much for the support you gave 'The Monkey' - it made me want to write more - so here is the next installment!
> 
> If you would like to read the last fic (Marisa harming her daemon and herself :( and mary investigating and being like :(((((( ) feel free, but it's not necessary to understand this.
> 
> Many thanks to Citrusbuds for beta-ing and Basil and the internet for giving me information about being mute. Any mistakes are, however, absolutely my own.
> 
> 11/02/21

Oz didn't talk.

Sometimes he wanted to, sometimes he saw other daemons and their humans whispering to each other and he wanted to so badly.

But he couldn't.

Just the thought of it made him feel sick with anxiety. He didn't like it when he felt like that. Marisa didn't either.

So he didn't think of it.

Or, he did his best not to anyway.

But sometimes the urge to get something out overruled the panic churning in his stomach and he opened his mouth to say something. Nothing ever came out. The sounds got stuck in his throat and he felt like he was choking. He didn't understand what was wrong, he just... couldn't do it. There was something stopping him.

It was better that way though, Marisa preferred it when he didn't speak.

And he preferred it when Marisa was pleased with him.

"Oz is not choosing what we get to watch!" Marisa snapped.

Mary stared back at her, unfazed, while Oz's gaze flickered uncertainly between them; he was ready to bolt at any second.

"Marisa," Mary sighed. "We discussed this. It's Tuesday, on Tuesdays it's Oz's turn to decide what we watch on TV."

Marisa rolled her eyes.

"Come on, you agreed to this, even though you've managed to be 'conveniently absent' every Tuesday evening since we talked about it last month. Oz would like some more input into the decisions we make in this house."

"Fine," Marisa said, gritting her teeth and looking like she was preparing herself for torture.

Mary pulled up the TV guide and handed the remote to Oz, who scrolled through the channels, carefully reading the description on each one. Mary suddenly felt a surge of affection for him and gave him a scratch behind the ear. The monkey preened.

Eventually, Oz had decided.

"Horror, huh," Mary said weakly. "Well, it's not what I would have thought you'd want to watch but if you're sure..."

The monkey nodded happily and pressed 'ok' on the remote.

Later, Marisa found Mary in the kitchen, nursing a cup of hot chocolate.

She smirked. "You weren't expecting that, were you?"

Mary gazed up at her, her eyes unfocused. "There was so much blood..."

"Maybe you should have let me pick the programme then," Marisa suggested, snatching the hot chocolate out from between Mary's fingers and taking a sip.

"No, no," Mary replied, still sounding a bit shaky. "This is important."

"If you say so."

Mary glared at her.

"Okay, fine."

And Oz was important, very important. So was Marisa.

Since Mary had walked in on Marisa strangling Oz six months ago, things had improved a lot. Oz, through pointing to things, making hand gestures or writing in his notebook, was giving his opinions, communicating. And Marisa seemed to be taking better care of herself, and Oz, which was equally important given that Marisa and Oz were a part of each other.

At the beginning, Marisa had hated the idea of Oz receiving affection, much less him communicating. But she was better at it now (Mary had even walked into the kitchen one day to see Oz in Marisa's arms, the woman stroking his head softly - and _that_ was progress), and when Mary gave them her amateur therapy/counselling sessions Marisa had become used to the idea of Oz writing what he wanted to say down in the notebook.

Of course, that she was coming to terms with the daemon being able to communicate in some form didn't mean she always liked what he had to say. Their sessions could be rocky to say in the least.

And their progress was inconsistent. Sometimes it seemed that they took two steps forward and three steps back. Sometimes Marisa seemed to have improved in leaps and bounds, and the next day she would be snappish and spiteful, pulling hurtful words around her like a shell and pushing the monkey (and Mary) away.

But she was improving, and the monkey was mirroring this progress, becoming more trusting, more confident, less skittish.

So, perhaps she could see if she could take things a step further in the right direction.

Mary sat at the kitchen table opposite Marisa. For the hundredth time she glanced nervously at the other woman. Marisa’s head was buried in a physics book, she had a stack of post-its beside her and seemed to alternate between reading intently and scribbling frantically on the post-its before sticking them besides the correct paragraph. They were probably reminders for further research or scathing criticisms of methodology.

She had been meaning to broach the subject of Oz for days, but every time she tried she froze up and the words died on her tongue. She glanced out the window into the overgrown garden where Oz was swinging in the trees, scaring squirrels and jumping down next to the birds when they got close to the bird feeder. Mary felt sorry for them and she would have stopped him, only, for all his gleeful delight at scaring them out of their skins, he was strangely protective of them, screaming at the neighbour’s cats whenever they seemed to be getting too close. Also, she suspected that Oz had never had the chance to enjoy the outside much, trapped in Marisa’s stuffy and constricted life, so she left him to his fun.

The only problem with Oz’s garden pastimes was that the neighbours’ kids had found out that Mary and Marisa had a ‘pet’ monkey and kept trying to convince Oz (and Mary and Marisa) that he should come and play with them. Oz was much too shy for this and would often run away, and Marisa was very against this idea (understandably, the situation would make her very vulnerable). Mary, however, secretly thought that this would be a very good idea.

Anyway, the point of all this was that Oz was outside and Marisa was inside, and she needed to talk to Marisa _now_ , she couldn’t keep putting this off.

“Marisa?”

“Yes.” Marisa replied, looking up from her book, an eyebrow raised expectantly.

“Uh… nothing, I was just wondering how the book was…” Mary said, all the while cursing herself.

“Just get whatever it is off your chest, Mary,” Marisa ordered. “You’ve been sitting there getting more and more nervous for the past five minutes, and, frankly, it’s very distracting. I’d like you to tell me what the problem actually is so I can concentrate.”

Mary felt slightly wrong-footed at this turn in the conversation, but, she supposed, now she would have to say something. Marisa had practically invited her to after all.

She sighed. “I’ve been thinking, about Oz.”

“Yes,” Marisa said, the tilt of her head indicating that Mary should just get on with it, her folded hands in her lap indicating that she was deliberately giving herself a perfect posture to hide her nerves.

"So, you know how he doesn't talk..."

Marisa’s jaw tightened slightly, but she nodded.

“Look, I know this isn’t an easy conversation to have, but you keep skirting the question, and I’d really like to know more about why he doesn’t talk than “he knows better”, I…”

"You want to help, do you?" Marisa gave her a twisted smile, her tone acerbic and patronising.

Mary allowed this to wash over her, Marisa was always like this when she felt threatened, and the only thing to do about it was to not react.

"Yes, I do," Mary answered, nodding. “You know I do.”

Marisa seemed to curl in on herself a little, but she kept fierce eye-contact with Mary, as if she thought that if she looked away she would lose a battle.

After a few seconds she said calmly, "he always used to get us into trouble whenever he talked, my parents were never happy, and he used to say the most heretical things sometimes... it was better when he shut up. I suppose we got him to shut up in the end, my parents and I..."

"He still, has his vocal cords and everything though, right?" Mary asked hesitantly.

"Of course. Daemons may be... we may have _believed_ daemons to be sinful," Mary gave an approving nod at her correction. "But mutilating a daemon is not the done thing."

“Good,” Mary looked out of the window absent-mindedly to see how Oz was doing. "Okay, so-” She gasped as she saw the Monkey lying on the lawn, his wide eyes full of distress, curling in on himself. “Marisa, what are you _doing_?" 

Marisa stood up abruptly, letting her right hand fall down from where its nails had been embedded in her left wrist. Mary’s eyes fixed on the angry grooves she had carved into her skin.

"You can't just ask me things like that and expect me to behave how you want me to!" Marisa yelled.

Mary sighed. "I'm sorry, I-"

"No," Marisa snapped. The next second she had left the kitchen.

Mary put her head in her hands and stared at the books Marisa had left behind.

She wondered if she should go after her. Maybe later. Later would be best. Marisa would need some time to herself.

She looked out of the window again, searching for the monkey. He was standing behind the glass door, looking at her forlornly.

Mary gave him a sad smile and got up to open the door for him. As soon as she had done so he lept into her arms and Mary enfolded the shaking monkey into a tight embrace. Marisa probably wouldn’t appreciate this, but it wasn’t about Marisa right this second. 

The conversation, apart from leaving her with a very stormy tempered Marisa for the next few days, had been enlightening. From what Marisa had said, it seemed that physically the monkey should be able to speak, but some sort of trauma (partly in the form of a young and frightened Marisa, Mary thought, scrabbling for some kind of control over her life), had rendered him mute.

This called for some research.

She typed in 'mutism' and started with the _NHS_ website. Selective Mutism... 'severe anxiety disorder'... well that checked out, she could imagine that Oz must have been made to feel very anxious, and that anxiety was likely still with him... 'where a person is unable to speak in certain social situations'... well, make that _all_ social situations. 'A child or adult with selective mutism does not refuse or choose not to speak at certain times, they're literally unable to speak.'... she wasn't sure if that was promising or not, on the one hand it sounded like Oz, so that was good... on the other, him literally being unable to speak was less good.

Then she reached the part about those with selective mutism being able to talk around some people... okay, so, that wasn't accurate. But there were some nice solutions to try further down the page. She made a few notes, pressed the back button, and continued with her research.

According to her notes, the most important things to remember were to not push someone to speak, to treat any forms of communication (such as pointing) as valid, and to not put pressure on them or use negative reinforcement, this would only make things worse. She found several different strategies that she could try, and she would try them, but the most important thing seemed to be supporting Oz and making him feel safe.

That meant she would have to deal with Marisa.

Marisa was part of the problem here, if she were still afraid, if she didn't want Oz to talk, then he wouldn't, after all, they were connected, and she was part of the reason Oz had stopped in the first place.

Which meant another uncomfortable conversation with Marisa.

Maybe it would be best if that waited.

"Have you had a nice day today, Oz?" Mary asked as she turned the oven on.

Oz nodded enthusiastically.

"That's good to hear, what did you get up to?"

Oz mimed using a pen.

"More drawing?"

He nodded.

"To decorate your den?"

He nodded again.

"You'll have to show me some of them later." Mary said, searching through the fridge for something she felt like cooking. "What else happened? Do you want to write it out for me?"

Oz thought for a minute before nodding.

Mary smiled.

Marisa would need to be on board too, but maybe Oz would be more receptive.

And if Oz were receptive, maybe that would convince Marisa?

When Marisa went to take a shower later that day Mary sat on the floor of the living room, playing Cluedo with Oz. She had to watch the monkey carefully, if there was one thing she knew about Oz, it was that he liked winning, and he didn't like sticking to the rules.

"Oz," Mary said as he checked under a flower pot. "Marisa told me that you used to be able to talk."

Oz stared at her cautiously, shrinking in on himself slightly.

"I just wanted to let you know that you can now, if you want. No-one's going to hurt you for it here."

Mary didn't believe she had ever been on the receiving end of such an incredulous look from anyone, let alone a monkey. She gave him a sad smile.

"You don't have to believe me, Oz, not yet, but it's true, at least on my part. You are valued in this house."

The bathroom door opened upstairs and Oz sprinted out of the room.

Mary groaned.

She was not qualified to deal with this.

She had been going too fast.

Time to slow down.

Things seemed to settle after a few days. Oz stopped skirting round her and Marisa was less snappish, more flirtatious, and the two women resumed their easy dynamic which, now Marisa had a much firmer grasp of this world's scientific terminology, often involved her giving scathing rants about other scientists' theories, while Mary watched on, sipping a cup of tea and finding herself beaming affectionately at the other woman.

“I’m sorry,” Marisa said one night as they lay snuggled together under their duvet. Mary’s eyes widened at this statement, which had come completely out-of-the-blue.

“Oh, thank you,” she said, then winced; surprise never rendered her the most eloquent of people.

Marisa sighed. “I do mean it, you were trying to help, and I’ve been so awful to you recently. I was…” Mary could practically feel Marisa steeling herself beside her, “I was scared. Your questions brought up a lot of bad memories, I was trying to protect myself and I hurt you.”

Mary paused, wondering how to reply. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for saying so, I appreciate your apology.”

In the darkness of the room she could just about make out Marisa giving a rueful smile.

“Well, I need to get better at apologising, don’t I? Isn’t that what you’ve been telling me?”

“It might have been,” Mary agreed, smiling affectionately at her. “Come here,” she said, snuggling closer to Marisa and wrapping her arms around her. “I love you, and I’m so proud of you.”

“Me too,” Marisa repeated after a pause. “Me too.”

It was three in the morning and Marisa was crouched in front of him, looking at him sternly. Oz looked up at her, tensed, ready to shoot back at any second. He could feel the apprehension pouring off her, and when Marisa was nervous good things never happened.

“Oz,” she said stiffly, as if she were trying to force the words out. “I have come to the conclusion that it would be alright if you started talking again. That does not mean you are allowed to do so at work, there you still need to be hidden in the desk drawer with your Kindle. However, you will be allowed to do so here, with me and Mary.”

Oz stared at her, he could hear what she was saying, and the bond between them seemed to be indicating she was sincere, but none of it was making any sense. She couldn’t mean it, could she?

Marisa tutted and rolled her eyes, getting up from the floor and looking down at him.

“I’m going back to bed,” she told him.

And with that she left, striding purposefully out of the room and back upstairs, her body language betrayed only by the fact that he could feel her emotions swirling at the corners of his mind.

His own fear and confusion (and hope) sang in his heart.

What did Marisa mean?

  
  


Some days later Oz was alone in the kitchen. Marisa and Mary were upstairs, he supposed they were probably kissing, but it wasn’t really something he cared to pay attention to.

He opened his mouth and took a deep breath.

No one was around, no one would have to know, to ever find out. If he tried just a whisper, would that be okay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you all enjoyed the first chapter!
> 
> I would be very happy if you let me know what you think of it!


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